11th November 2022 should have been my brother’s 38th birthday, but he will never be older than 35.
Three years after his death, I know I still have not processed that, and I am still not even able to talk about this loss. But I hope that maybe if someone reads this and is going through a similar thing – it will help them at least a little bit. So I will try to write about it.
Also, I hope it will help me as, undeniably, I have a problem with talking about my feelings and not pretending that everything is ok.
I also always worry that someone from my work could read about what I’m going through and judge me for the pain.
In a week’s time, I’m starting a new job, and it is very much possible that it will completely consume me. There is a part of me that would very much welcome that, and it is my typical pattern of behaviour: to get preoccupied with tasks at hand in order to numb myself to whatever I go through emotionally. It is a way of avoidance, very tempting because you can easily persuade yourself that you are doing something beneficial for your future and socially acceptable.
I will never demonise strong work ethics, but in my case, and I don’t believe I’m that original, it can be auto-destructive if it comes from the wrong place. The place of fear and avoiding your feelings.
So now, when I still have time to collect my thoughts semi-clearly, I want to talk shortly about my grief.
In my childhood, I was very close with my brother, and even though our relationship became more complicated with time, I did love him very much, and I miss him tremendously.
Losing your life at 35 is undeniably a tragedy, and I feel like the concept of that casts only a darker and darker shadow the closer I get to that age. It seems to me now as some symbol of the moment where your life makes you or breaks you, where I will have to face my mortality and everything I have done so far.
I am not ready for that now, and I fear whether I am going to be ready in a few years’ time.
From this point, there are only two things I can do.
I can either avoid taking real responsibility for my life and never be truly ready for that 35-year-old self-assessment. I can live a life of neglecting my actual emotional needs, pursuing my short-term desires, and escaping the pain I have to face to heal.
Or I can have the audacity to take everything that constitutes who I am and face life with courage. My brother’s life ended at 35, but I will live in this body, in this mind, for an unspecified number of years, and I need to make this environment hospitable.
Life will never be cozy, and you will meet death either as a passerby or the primary passenger.
I know that some people who are ‘left behind’ by their loved ones might ask themselves if they deserve to live, and I also know that this question might not be understandable for someone who has never gone through such a loss.
The answer is, of course, yes, but also, I know that this is not fair that this question is not that easy for you to answer. And I feel sorry for this with my whole heart.
We not only should live but also deserve the joy of healing and peace. Whatever that will mean for you.
For myself, I have chosen regular therapy sessions, doing what I love (dancing, writing, painting), understanding and prioritising my real needs over trauma-driven urges, and radical honesty with myself. And also accepting that all I can do is my best, even if it often feels like so little.
